The Red Shoes
by Sorrowful
Summary: Since she was a child, Francoise dreamed of dancing in the most illusive ballet company in France. In the midst of her dream come true, she's faced with a choice-- her incomparable gift, or her beloved composer. She must decide whether she wants to risk h
1. The illusive company

Authors Note: Welcome into my new novel, based on the famous novel 'The Red Shoes.' I was lucky enough to find this magnificent piece and be able to precautious duplicate it in my own words. Of course, I've done quite the changes so you'll find some twists along the way. I hope that you all appreciate this story, seeing as its based on a novel that is a true piece of art.

Title: The Red Shoes

Chapter: One: The illusive company

Brisk winds blew across the quiet streets of Paris, leaving a feeling of utmost vastness upon Joe's impression of his new home. The sky was amidst with fog, leaving the sky looking as if heaven was in reach. Raindrops ran down window panes, trickling down slowly. Trees swayed slowly to the winds rhythm, creating a winter land portrait. Joe hummed as he made his way across the many streets that he would grow to know in a short period of time. He hummed Mozart's allegro, fifth opening, merrily. You see, Joe Shimamura was a composer of orchestras, who had finally left hone to make his name known throughout the world, just like the great Boris Lemontove himself. Joe looked at the address that he had subconsciously scribbled on the palm of his hand. It was now becoming blurs as the rain hit the black ink. Joe covered his hand hurriedly and stepped into the porch of the house which matched his address.

 The azure acrylic paint was beginning to peel on the outside walls, and the wooden door was chipped away at some places. He took the golden key out of his worn pocket and began to unlock the series of locks that hung outside. The rug that lay flatly on the floor was worn and bleached in some spots. Joe figured that the house must have been of age, or the weather was brutally corrupting it little by little, without mercy. Joe chuckled and said quietly to himself; "Well isn't that how the world is, corrupting other merciless?" In front of him appeared an elderly woman, the caretaker. "Hello young man, I am Mrs. Portman, the caretaker." Joe felt exhausted but rapidly smiled and said in a beaming voice; "My name is Joe Shimamura, I phoned earlier to rent this house, surely you know?" Mrs. Portman nodded and gave him the necessary instructions about the house. She walked through the door daintily, giving him a smile on her way out. The door creaked close.

Joe released the cheery expression from his face, dropping the facade. He was not an actor; he would not wear a mask. He was in a higher position, he was the composer. Someone who led the ways of others. Bending them to his will. But Joe was a deeply compassionate man and so he would not use his position for such cruel activities. He found himself only preoccupied in making the music run smoothly, into the hearts of the audience. He himself would never admit to wearing masks at time when he could not. Frustration would consume him at those times. He took a deep breath and reread the note that had initiated his trip to Paris. It was from his teacher, Professor Palmer. It read in thin spidery letters; 

Dear Joe,

You have successfully passed you ovations test and now I send you on a scholarship to Paris to do whatever you will with your certificate. It will be given to you at the end of our performance which will be held in the grand theater at the time we discussed over the phone. I commend you on your skills, and please, do not be late.

At the bottom in the same handwriting, perhaps rushed, was his signature. Professor A. Palmer, one of the directors of the best schools in Tokyo had been teaching Joe since his childhood the means of composing. 

Joe was about to begin unpacking his suitcase when he heard three knocks at the door. Curiously, he went downstairs and opened it, finding the three cheery faces of his best friends. Chang, Jet, and Great Britain, stood there awaiting his greeting. Withstanding the cold temperature they waved silently and beckoned him to the car that was waiting for them. "So, you've finally arrived, isn't Paris wonderful?" Asked Chang while daydreaming of the warmer days.

"Not in this time of year, it isn't." Jet snorted. Joe shrugged while intercepting a fight between Jet and Chang. "When are you going to go and audition?" Joe looked at Great Britain, who was looking at him earnestly, searching for an answer. "I don't know, first I have to get settled in."  Joe said as he let out a grin. "Which I was doing before you guys interrupted me."  He said in a matter-of-fact tone. Great Britain laughed and shrugged. "It's awfully cold out here, why don't we celebrate you're arrival there?" Great Britain pointed to a cafe across from them. Rich smells wandered into their noses, alluring them to the cafe. "How about this meal is on me?" Offered Great Brilliant in his gallant voice while bowing. "You're not inside the theater so cut it out, as for your offer, I think we'll take it." Replied Jet in an irritating tone.

Great Britain looked at his wallet which seemed to be crying because it was empty. "What was I thinking, had I forgotten that Jet was here with us?" He sighed and looked back to see Jet still pigging out on pastries. "Does this mean that you'll look for Jet before you offer that again?" Asked Joe as he made his way to Great Britain. G.B. nodded and once again looked at his wallet and sigh. "Are you trying out for Lemotiove's Company?" G.B. asked Joe in a contemplating manner. "I am, I still can't believe you aren't." G.B. slouched himself against the door of the restaurant and closed his eyes. "Boris Lemotiove's is a very empowering man, I act for the freedom of roles, and he would take that away from me." Joe nodded and though about the invitation that he had received to audition for the company. It had been his lifelong dream to participate in France's most illusive ballet company, and yet here he was, having doubts.

"I have to go G.B., thanks for the meal; although I'm sure Jet enjoyed it more than any of us. I have to go or I'll be late." G.B. nodded in understanding and watched as Joe sped of on the way to the grand theater. He didn't have the heart to tell him that he had auditioned for the company and was refused. He sighed at the sight of Jet and murmured under his breath; "He has no idea what he's getting into. Boris can be deceiving along with his illusive company.

A/N: I hope you guys like it; so please R/R. 

~Sorrowful~


	2. The Neglected Ballerina

A/N: Forgive me for the delay, and thank you all. This chapter is dedicated to Katherine. One of the best and most talented authors, as well as one of the best friends anyone could have. 

Title: The Red Shoes

Chapter: 2 - The Neglected Ballerina

She was, in fact, the profound picture of perfection. Her face was porcelain, adorned with eyes like the deep sea. Today, they shone with gloom in them, causing a mystic of sadness around her. Her name was Francoise Arnoul. She lived with her aunt in Paris, France since the tragic death of her parents. Her relationship with her aunt didn't reach beyond the barrier of formal affairs and family commitment. Francoise was merely a china doll, who was born to be dressed up and shown off. Her golden locks hung airily above her slender shoulders. Red lipstick smeared her lips and white powder covered her rosy cheeks. Francoise wanted to run and wash her face, but she knew she could not. No matter what her affection with her aunt was it would never change the fact that she had taken her in, at her time of need. Francoise sighed as she applied more makeup to her fragile face. She heard a loud knock at the door, startling her so, making her drop the powder unto the floor. The white cream like substance lay flatly upon the floor, standing out against the marble floor. "Just a minute, oh forget it. How am I supposed to clean this up without her noticing anyway?" Francoise said as she stepped as far from the powder as possible. The door opened rapidly and there stood her assigned Irish maid, Maureen. "Why dear, what mess this is! Good you're standing faraway, wouldn't want that brand new dress spoiled, now would we. Lady Clarice is waiting for you, Lady Francoise.  Francoise smiled sheepishly at the maid thanking her silently, thanking god that it was not her aunt at the door. "Oh and one more thing, Lady Clarice says she has a surprise for you. Don't dawdle, hurry up, and hurry up!" The maid ushered Francoise outside to the starring eyes of the guests. They were gasps of delights and whispers. Francoise had learned to ignore such foolish commentary; and walked on to her Aunt Clarice Neston. 

She had previously come from a show featuring the ballet company of Boris Lermontov and was exhausted. She wasn't tired from the day, but from clapping at the magnificent performance. As she walked, she caught a glimpse of a tailed coat that had the initials B.L. embroiled unto the front pocket in a golden thread. Francoise wondered whether it could be possible that, indeed the great Boris Lermontov was at her aunts festivities. She rushed to her aunt, now, noticing that she had stopped in the middle of the room and was starring. Her aunt rushed to her in a flushed manner, her hands roughly pulling her aside. "Francoise dear, Boris Lermontov is here and I've arranged for him to see you dance." Francoise felt numb for a moment, numb with shock. She mouthed the word; what, and then her eyes lit up. "Is this you're surprise, aunt?" Lady Neston nodded thoroughly and pointed at a man who Francoise recognized from the many magazines and newspapers that she had read. "There he is, Boris Lermontov, go on!" Like the maid had done before her, Lady Neston ushered Francoise to Lermontov. 

Francoise didn't know what to do, she felt embarrassed and at the same time nervous. She sat beside Lermontov and said casually; "I'm so glad that you came to my aunt's celebration." Lermontov nodded and replied as casually as Francoise had spoken; "Yes, I just pity the young girl that has to dance tonight, she must be a horror." 

Francoise was angry beyond description and she replied hotly; "I am that horror!"  Lermontov did not flinch the least bit, instead his replied as coolly as ever. "Well then miss; I beg your pardon for my rude commentary. Unfortunately, I must make my leave now. Please inform you're aunt miss."

"What about my performance?"  Francoise said in shock. "Your right, you can come and see me at the grand theater tomorrow." Lermontov handed Francoise a piece of paper and let her in complete shock.

Lermontov sighed as he slid into the car that would deliver him home. "Miss Arnoul seemed quite annoyed with your commentary." Lermontov nodded at his right hand man and then spoke; "You're quite right, Gilmore.  This is why I invited the poor girl to dance at the theater tomorrow. I doubt that she has any talent at all, but let's give it a try. We wouldn't want to offend her aunt, after all she is once of the richest, a most friendly host in this town. We wouldn't want to make her angry, now would we?" 

Issah Gilmore nodded and drove on. "Gilmore, when we get to the inn, please phone Mr. Shimamura, I want him to compose the musical that I planning along. I could also use him to play for Miss. Arnoul. I want to see his talent as soon as possible. Gilmore nodded and replied in a monotone voice; "Yes sir, Mr. Shimamura will be informed at once." 


	3. Meeting you

_A/N: I know it's short but that's because I had to write three different chapters for three differnt stories in one day and I'm a bit short of inspiration. Well, I leave you to reading the next chapter._

Title: The Red Shoes

Chapter: 3- Meeting you

It was a misty evening. Doves were flying in the sky, seeking shelter. Soaked, Francoise sheltered herself against the veranda of the grand theater. She sighed as she looked at her dress; it was ruined, soaked to the last stitch. Her petite figure was now slouched against the glass doors, and the material of her dress was sticking to her, water dripping from the lace at the bottom. Her hair, hung limply at her shoulders, sending streams of water dripping down her shoulder blades. What had she been thinking? Leaving the grand manner without listening to her Aunt's advice to call Lermontov to see if she could reschedule due to the weather. No, she had been stubborn, she had been determined to reach the grand theater at the promise time, and it had cost her so much. Her aunt of course, would be furious. She had just bough the dress Francoise was wearing a few days ago, and it was to be saved for another annual celebration that her aunt was planning. "Well, so much for that." Francoise said to herself as she scoffed. Francoise looked up and caught a glimpse of a young man heading her way. As she tried to hide herself somewhere, to avoid pure humiliation, instead she tripped over her skirt which covered her feet. Francoise felt herself falling and at the same time she knew she couldn't stop. She felt herself being caught, barely, her hair touched the ground. "Excuse me miss, are you alright?" 

His mahogany mane covered one of his eyes, leaving the other revealed. It shone with concern, and perhaps pity. This made Francoise even more frustrated, and yet embarrassed. "Excuse me miss?" Francoise could not understand what the young man was trying to tell her and then much to her shock, she realized that she was indeed standing in the way of the entrance. Francoise's cheeks flared into an unmistakable embarrassment and she stood aside. "I'm sorry, but by any chance, would you know where I can find Boris Lermontov?" Francoise looked at the questioning young man and stood up dignified remembering the previous incident; "I don't know, I was hoping that you could tell me." 

The young man shook his hand and offered his hand graciously. Francoise gladly accepted it and then looked at her dress once more. They entered the lobby of the Grand Theater. Suddenly a petite clerk approached them, straightening her spectacles. "You must be Miss Arnoul and Mr. Shimamura; Mr. Lermontov called earlier to postpone your meeting until tomorrow at the same assigned time. I'm sorry for the predicament that I have caused you by not phoning earlier." The elderly women said as she headed back to her wooden desk. 

Francoise wasted no time in plopping herself in a nearby chair. Her blond drenched curls hung on her delicate features, lubricating exhaustion. "All that effort, in vain...." She whispered to herself. 

Joe strolled over to a miserable looking Francoise, he gave her his best smile and they began to talk. Francoise told him of her whole ideal concerning her dress, her aunt, and before she knew it about herself. They talked until the sky darkened and Francoise gasped.

"Oh my, it's awfully late, I'm sorry I have to leave." Daintily enough, Francoise picked up her golden purse and headed outside to catch a cab. "Excuse me miss, I could give you a ride?" Joe offered. Francoise reluctantly stopped; her aunts had told her never to talk to strangers nonetheless accept rides from them. But he wasn't a stranger; after all they had talked all evening long.

"Yes, I'd be much obliged, thank you."

"No problem, Miss Arnoul." Joe said in a teasing manner as he helped her to his car.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Lermontov you can't possibly---"

"Ah, but I must Gilmore, these are just too precious to waste."

"But Lermontov, those shoes, their deadly, she wont stop--"

"Folly, dear man, the shoes are like any other. Now come along, let's make preparations."

Issah Gilmore looked at Lermontov, his eyes pleading him to change his decision, but he wouldn't. "The least you can do is warn the poor girl."

"I cannot, for then she would loose her will to dance, come old man, alleviate yourself. What happened last time was just an incident." Gilmore shook his head and said in a stern voice; "No it wasn't Lermontov, and you know it. Stop this foolishness at once. You cannot risk this girl---"

"Hush, someone will hear your ranting, let's go we've go preparations to make." Lermontov said in a commanding voice as he strolled away, oblivious to the casualties that his deadly weapon would cause.


	4. The audition

_A/N: I leave you to this next chapter..._

**Title:  The Red Shoes**

**Chapter 4- The audition**

*********

Francoise could feel her heart beating against her chest; she was surprised it didn't burst out. Her ballerina shoes which had been tied with golden colored thread were on her feet, ready to dance, to show her talent. What Françoise did not expect was that she wasn't the only ballerina who was going to dance there. Three other girls were chatting away, their frantic nerves visible.

  
Francoise hugged her arms to herself; she was still wet despite her change of clothes. She looked around and spotted whom she had admired for all her life; the worldwide famous ballerina, Beatrice. Beatrice was sitting in a bench chatting amicably with Lermontov himself; she was smiling and everyone who cared to read the newspaper knew why. She was getting married. It suddenly hit Francoise that, that was why those others ballerina's were auditioning, to take her place. Francoise felt dread in her stomach as she imagined her audition going terribly wrong. What if she tripped? Or did a triple spin instead of a double? Francoise took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on the decoration around her so that her heart would not begin to race again.

*********

 Joe looked at the screaming man before him, the person who kept everything organized he assumed. "Mr. Shimamura, you're late! You haven't brought any music with you! I will not stand for this! Give me one good reason that I shouldn't fire you!"

"Because I don't work here?" Joe said peevishly, with a nervous grin. The man either didn't hear Joe through all his rambling, or didn't want to hear Joe. He walked away still ranting about not getting any respect and how actors behaved during his youthful years. 

Joe's first few minutes in the Grand Theaters were full of either being pointed at by the ballerina's that were auditioning and being giggled at, or being screamed at by the man who he did not know the name of--and didn't want to know. An elderly man approached him, this one with a kind face. "Excuse him, Mr. Shimamura; I am Mr. Gilmore, Lermontov right hand." Joe realized who he was talking to and shook hands with him vigorously. "Nice to meet you sir, I am Joe Shimamura." Joe suddenly felt like sinking into the ground, of course he knew his name; he had addressed him by it.

Gilmore ignored the look of embarrassment that crossed Joe's face and said; "Lermontov will be with you in a second to tell you what to do, here is the sheet of music that he wishes you to play." Joe took the black inked noted and whispered a thank you. He sat down and looked at the paper; it read 'Cadenza 1- Play for auditioning ballerinas'. Joe sighed and prepared his conducting staff, this would not be an easy job.

*********

Francoise was waiting in line, and so far two ballerinas had danced, both magnificent. "This is going to be humiliating..." Francoise whispered to herself. The girl before her heard her comment and said gently; "Don't worry I'll do worse then you, which should make you feel better." Francoise laughed softly as not to be heard. "My name is Natalie, and I'm here to make a fool of myself, although you'll see that in the next minute. What about you?"

"My name is Francoise, and I am the niece of Clarice Neston. I came here because Lermontov invited me to dance. And yes Natalie, you will get to see a humiliating dance--just that it will be coming from me." They both laughed and then the man who had yelled in Joe's face, called up Natalie. "Wish me good luck, Francoise?" Natalie asked earnestly. Francoise saw that she was too serious and nervous to dance to her full capacity and so decided to lighten up the mood before she left. "Good luck, you'll need it." Natalie smiled and pushed Francoise playfully as she left for the stage.

Francoise watched in awe as she saw Natalie dance, she was a great dancer. She danced to the cadenza that being played lightly and gracefully. At the end, Francoise applaud, earning a smile from Natalie. "You were Great Natalie, really!" 

"Thanks Francoise, now it's your turn to be in the pit of doom." Francoise smiled and her dread returned. "Get ready Franny." Natalie said in a teasing manner. "I never liked that nickname, so please don't tease me I tend to turn quite upset if it's used." Natalie shrugged and nodded. The man whose face was now as red as a tomato bellowed; "Francoise Arnoul to the stage." Francoise turned to look at Natalie who winked. As she was pushed into the blinding lights she heard Natalie say;

"You'll do fine, Franny." 

Francoise sighed and whispered to herself; "If I survive this, I'll kill her."


End file.
